


You’ll Never Be Free

by kusege



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, M/M, Overstimulation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, This is based off the tumblr blog Michael-and-bots so!! Go check them out!!!, Trauma-Induced Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 06:45:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kusege/pseuds/kusege
Summary: Michael is still haunted by plenty of ghosts from his past. Sometimes, they’re summoned on accident.





	You’ll Never Be Free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Goober826](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goober826/gifts).



It had been exhausting. Six entire minutes of fighting, shouting, and strategic button mashing. He’d somehow managed to completely switch sides on the couch during the fight, but it was worth it. Michael stared at the screen, still panting a little. He’d won.   
  
“Damn, you finally fucking managed to beat me, you bastard!” Jeremy said, pride leaking through his false-pissed tone. Michael forced himself to smile even as his body begged him to  _ run away now he’s angry at you- _ _   
_   
Michael shook his head, trying to focus. This was his boyfriend, things were okay. “I-I did! I... I got good at the game!”  _ Jeremy isn’t really mad at me. Jeremy would never try to scare me. Jeremy would never try to hurt me. _ _   
_   
“Yeah, and damned lucky,” he said, staring at the screen while selecting a different character. “It’s not going to happen again, babe.”   
  
Michael shook out his hands a little, smiling. “No, you’ve given me too much power. I’m now good at this game. You will never beat me again.”   
  
“Yeah?! I’d like to see you try, jackass!” Jeremy grinned, sticking his tongue out at Michael. Michael stuck his out back, selected his character, and settled in for another fight.   
  
He didn’t process time like this, not once he got into his adrenaline-packed flow state. Michael was leaning into his controller, not even feeling the buttons, desperately trying to get out of range before Jeremy got his final smash. He saw Jeremy’s character stop moving, and took the opportunity to taunt-   
  
Cold.    
  
Pain.   
  
Cold and pain and digging into his chest like metal, causing his body to spasm, dropping his controller to curl in on himself, oh god he could feel the blood, it was everywhere and it hurt, it hurt, he thought he was free from this, he thought it was never going to happen again-   
  
“M i c h a e l ~” the nearly shapeless being purred to him from the corner of the room. It was soaked in his blood, dripping with it. It slithered to him, eyes shaking hollowly in their long-broken sockets.   
  
“N-no, not- not you-“ Michael stammered, desperately trying to back away, but it was so hard with his stomach burning constantly and blood and fluid spilling all over the floor, and with the wall already to his back.   
  
A hollow and raspy laugh, that sounded so familiar. “I t ‘ s m e , m y d a r l i n g m o n s t e r . . .” A single metallic finger trailed down his cheek, leaving a shimmering red stain behind across his rotted flesh, right next to the line formed by his tears.   
  
“I’m- no, please, don’t-“   
  
“B u t w h y w o u l d n ‘ t I ?” It shook with its own laughter, holding Michael’s shoulders against the back of the couch. Michael struggled weakly- he knew it was too strong to escape from, but he didn’t want to just go limp, lest things hurt more. “Y o u a r e m i n e . I w i l l d o t o y o u a s I n e e d t o. A n d r i g h t n o w I n e e d y o u t o h o l d s t- HOLD STILL, FUCK-!”   
  
Michael blinked. That didn’t sound like Ennard... where did that come fro-   
  
“Are you still  __ wondering about things, Michael?”    
  
Michael sat straight up, looking around desperately for the source of the voice. He knew it, but he thought he was dead now-   
  
But no, there was his father, staring at him near the open door. “Michael, listen,” he growled, stalking over to him. “You need to stop crying- it’s okay, Michael, you’re oka-you weakling. Just be useful for once in your goddamn life and- please, listen- fucking let yourself die.”   
  
Michael’s head hurt. The way William’s voice kept cutting in and out, the way his chest was still spewing blood even though he didn’t think he had that much left in his body, the way he was being held down but his shoulders weren’t being crushed by an overeager and glitchy AI being... it seemed so wrong...   
  
His hand moved, for no determinable reason, across his stomach. He felt his own blood gush over it and started to sob anew- it hurt, it hurt so badly...    
  
“Shit, okay, not doing that.” The voice seemed to come from nowhere and fade to nothing, like it came from another world or plane. Michael looked around, trying to find the source, with no luck.   
  
“What were you doing, Michael?” William growled, putting a hand on the side of his face to make Michael look towards him. He desperately struggled for an answer, trying to remember what he had- he’d been playing Smash with Jeremy, and he’d won, and he was going to tell Scott all about it, and.   
  
Wait.    
  
Where was Jeremy?   
  
“JEREMY!” He shouted, trying harder to push against Ennard’s relentless pressure on his chest. “JEREMY, PLEASE, I KNOW YOU’RE MAD AT ME FOR WINNING, BUT PLEASE HELP ME-“   
  
“It’s okay, Michael, I’m right here! I’m here, I didn’t go anywhere, it’s okay...” Jeremy said, voice emanating from somewhere around Ennard’s head. Another dripping, tentacle-like hand reached up to hold his cheek.   
  
Michael shuddered. “D-Don’t... Don’t mimic his voice, please, you’ve done enough, don’t take that away too-“   
  
“Michael. Close your eyes,” William instructed, “and take a deep breath.” His accent was missing. Michael started to obey him instinctively.   
  
“Okay, good- now what?” Jeremy’s voice asked.   
  
“Now, we see if we can calm him down,” asked- asked someone else? “I’ve seen him through episodes before, once or twice, although he never comes to me about them- you’re alright, son, take another breath.”   
  
Michael did, a shaky inhale taking oxygen he really didn’t need anymore into his empty chest. His empty, whole, undamaged chest... “That’s good, now let it out slowly...”   
  
“God, Michael,” Jeremy whispered, squeezing his shoulders slightly. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to set this off...”    
  
“C-can I... can I open my eyes yet, Dad?” Michael asked, voice hoarse and small.   
  
“...sure you can, Michael,” Henry said, shifting back to give him some space as Michael’s attack finally wore off entirely.

Jeremy, however, had no such apparent qualms, hugging Michael tight. “I’m so sorry, I- I just fucking thought, I’d shock you, and I’d get a cheap stock, I thought you’d get fucking angry and it would be funny, I didn’t mean to-“

“Jeremy- you didn’t do anything-“ Michael stuttered, shivering in his arms. The points of contact, where Jeremy’s warm skin met his cold flesh buzzed like angry insects. He felt too-warm tears prick at his eyes.

Henry swiftly pushed Jeremy away. “You’re overstimulating him, he’s still winding down.”

“Sorry- Sorry, Michael, I-“ Jeremy stood up, leaving Michael alone slumped against the couch. “I just… I- My fucking hand was cold, I was gonna scare you- I didn’t- you’re too damn easy to scare, I guess-“

“I’m sorry…” Michael said, arms curling around himself. “I- I’m sorry I’m so weak- I’m sorry it still hurts, I’ll,” his breathing began to speed up, “I’ll try to- to be better- it’s my fault, it’s all my fault, I should die, I should just fucking die-“

“Michael!”

Michael gasped, looking around frantically- no, no sign of him…. where…

“Michael, please, don’t say those things….” A new voice, a different one… Michael can’t _breathe_ -

“I keep hearing him… and seeing him…” Michael said, trying desperately to explain himself. “I don’t know- he was here, he touched me, he-“

“Oh, no, Michael….”

“He wants me dead, he’s right, I-“ A choked laugh burst from Michael’s throat. “I shouldn’t be alive, I have no right, I should have died when my entire goddamn chest was ripped out, I…”

“Michael… can I hug you?”

Michael shakily nodded, and was immediately taken into Henry’s arms. “It’s alright. He’s not here. You’ve just been seeing things again, and it is not, in any conceivable way, your fault for that,” Henry stressed.

“E-even if something touching my chest leads me into a nervous breakdown?” Michael cautiously asked, too exhausted to bother suppressing his accent.

Henry paused. “...Yes, even then. It isn’t… it isn’t your fault.”

Michael nodded again, glancing towards Jeremy, who was very awkwardly watching the two of them. Michael smiled, as best he could, and moved his head in a  _ get over here so we can hug  _  way. His skin is still buzzing from anxiety, but the contact manages to calm him down a little, grounding him. The three of them sit there for a while, listening to the menu music for Smash- the round must have ended some time ago, probably during his breakdown.

Later, when Jeremy tells Scott quietly that their boyfriend’s stomach is officially off-limits without explicit permission, he’ll question why, but not complain when Jeremy seems too regretful to answer. He won’t bring it up with Michael, who seems determined to never think about it again.

He also doesn’t bring up the fact that Michael has stopped looking in the mirror again.


End file.
